Lion In A Coma
by Stars In Tokyo
Summary: "Who are you?" he asked again, still staring at her. She smiled, "You know."


**A/N**: Hi everyone! This is my first Song of Ice & Fire fic. It's a little derpy thing, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

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Blackness washed over Tyrion like a thick fog. He remembered asking for the dreamwine, but not the consumption of it. He fell deeper into unconsciousness.

"_Tyrion_..."

The voice startled him out of the darkness, so familiar, but distant. Tyrion strained to focus on the faint sound. He forced his eyes open and the figure of a woman came into focus.

_"...Tyrion...Tyrion..._"

She sat beside him on the bedding of straw, her delicate fingers curled around his hand. Her face brightened as he came to; he groaned, feeling the pain of his injuries all over again. The woman tilted a cup to his cracked lips.

"Drink," she urged, "drink."

Tyrion, still in a haze, obeyed. A trickle of water slid down the back of his throat, and he coughed. She took the cup away as he struggled to sit up.

"It's not wine," Tyrion rasped. The woman just smiled.

"I apologize for that."

"Who are you?"

She remained silent for a few moments. "I've been sent to tend to your wounds," she replied.

This woman seemed so familiar, but he could not recall a name or even her face. Tyrion wracked his mind, straining through the haze of pain. She had undeniable beauty, with delicate features. As he held her gaze, Tyrion became acutely aware of himself: his mangled face caked with blood, and his soiled clothing and bedding. He felt heat rise up to his ears, as the acrid smell of shit filled his nostrils.

"Do not be ashamed," the woman said, as her fingers grazed his forehead, brushing away stray locks of golden hair. Goosebumps rushed over his flesh at her touch; he felt like a child, having this woman tend to him.

"Who are you?" he asked again, still staring at her. She smiled again.

"You know."

"I think not."

"I am sorry you do not remember me, Tyrion."

"As am I," he replied. She was an undeniable, ethereal beauty, and she wore clothes too fine for a simple chambermaid. He should be suspicious of her, this stranger, but something about her put him at ease; her presence brought comfort. She dipped a piece of cloth into a bucket of cold water and began to dab at his forehead.

"Your injuries are quite serious," she stated, as she wiped away coagulated blood from his brow, "But you are not ready yet."

"Ready for what, my lady?"

She grew distant for a moment, "You will recover. You're not ready to go with me."

"Go where?"

"I am glad," she replied, tucking a few blond strands behind her ear, "And very grateful that it's not your time."

Tyrion cocked a brow at her words. The facial movement caused the gash across his face to split open again. He winced as the fresh trickle of blood crept down his cheek. Sharp pain came in waves as he leaned back into the soiled straw. The woman stood up and gathered her skirts.

"Wait..." Tyrion managed to choke out, pain overtaking him again. Everything began to slip away, but as the woman took her leave, he heard her final message.

"Be strong, little lion," her voice receding to a whisper, "I love you, always."

Tyrion clung to the last moments of consciousness. In a moment of weakness, he tried to call out to her, to beg her not to leave him again. But as blackness overtook him, the image of her face was cut into his memory, like the scar on his face. It would be there forever.

"_Tyrion...Lord Tyrion..."_

As quick as reality dissolved, it reappeared: the clotted blood, throbbing aches, the soiled bedding. The only difference was the face of his young squire looming over him.

"Lord Tyrion, you're awake," Podrick Payne sighed in relief, "You finally opened your eyes, you're awake-"

"Pod, as much as I appreciate the concern, could you please be silent?" Tyrion groaned as he rubbed his head."How long have I been out?" Pod stood staring at his feet in silence, "You may speak now, Pod."

"My lord, you've been here for days. Out cold, I mean, for days, my lord."

"_Days?_"

"About four days. My lord. The maester, he said you were burning up, and feared you wouldn't make it, my lord," There were a few moments of silence, as Pod stared at his feet. How could days have gone by?

His head suddenly cleared and the memory of the stranger, came rushing back: her golden hair, green eyes, and delicate features. It was the woman who had died to give him life, his mother, Joanna Lannister.

Whether ghost or vision, Tyrion did not know. He did know that she had been there, her presence remained palpable. He touched his forehead, where she had wiped away the blood and sweat; it was clean.

"My lord? Are you feeling alright, my lord?" Podrick broke the silence, "I'll get the maester if-"

"No," Tyrion answered, "I will be fine."

Pod shifted, uncomfortable, "Are you sure? Sure you will be fine, I mean?" The boy cringed as he stared at his lord's wounds, and the smell. He found himself and brought his eyes back down to his feet.

"Yes, Pod," Tyrion tried to reassure him, "I will be fine."

As Podrick took his leave, Tyrion stared up at the ceiling, thinking of the mother he had never met. He laid in his own filth, with half of his nose hacked off, in excruciating pain, and he smiled . Tyrion could not explain what had really happened, but he felt confident that whatever it was, it had been real. No matter his monstrous appearance and stunted limbs: his mother loved him, wherever she was. And that was enough to convince him to fight on.


End file.
